Monday, October 5, 2009

Keeping the faith

In which we learn about Anne Bradstreet's adopted home, and Maria Bradstreet's adopted name

The Maria Chronicles, #14Maria is facing the Smart Board, reading the title of a poem she got from a Bing search (she likes it better than Google). It says, “Here followes some verses upon the burning of our house, July 10, 1666. Copeyed out of loose paper."

She then proceeds to read the Anne Bradstreet poem:

In silent night when rest I took,For sorrow neer I did not look, I waken'd was with thundring noisAnd Piteous shreiks of dreadfull voice. That fearfull sound of fire and fire,Let no man know is my Desire.

"Can you see that house burning? Maria asks them. "The fire would be a huge orange sheet, sweeping up toward the New England night, overrunning the wood, glass and thatching. Gray smoke against a black sky. Clothing writhes, curls and blackens in the overpowering heat. And yet the surrounding woods are quiet, punctuated by occasional crackling and the songs of crickets. I see terrible beauty."

The class is dead silent.

"Bradstreet knew she couldn't bring that house back," Maria continues. "And deep down, she knew that she shouldn't be trying. In essence, that’s exactly what her poem is about.

And when I could no longer look,I blest his grace that gave and took,That laid my goods now in the dust.Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just.It was his own; it was not mine.Far be it that I should repine . . . .

"She's trying to say that it's God's will that the house burned down," Olivia resumes.

'Why do you say that's what she's trying to say?"

"Because it's a struggle," Mia says, answering for Olivia. "She wants her faith to help her."

"Wants her faith to help her? Is that like trying to say it’s God’s will?"

Mia nods.Maria resume reading the poem, walking around the room as if she's surveying the ruins of the house:

Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest,There lay that store I counted best,My pleasant things in ashes lieAnd them behold no more shall I.Under the roof no guest shall sit,Nor at thy Table eat a bit.

"It's a heartbreaking scene, isn’t it?" Maria asks with an insistent sense of urgency in her voice. "Can’t you just see it, her walking among the ashes? 'No, no, no,'" she's saying. "'It doesn't bother me a bit that this place I loved has gone up in smoke. I won’t miss the furniture, or my trinkets, or the company of friends and family that gave it life. My faith is so secure that I'm not going grieve for it. Really.'"

A sense of silent gravity has returned to the room. Maria wonders if she's overplayed her hand. Her guess is that none of these students considers themselves very religious, but think of it as politically incorrect to question the sincerity of a believer. Max, for his part, is looking at her quizzically, as if he’s amazed that anyone could possibly be this into seventeenth century poetry.

She decides to break the tension, doing her best imitation of a sixteen year old girl: "Me? Like him? No way! Oh my God – did you see those jeans he was wearing? I admit, that belt was kinda cool, and he is does look a little buff under that T-shirt. But come on. No, seriously. All right, all right, I admit it: He is a little cute. But no – no! Unless . . . .”

"Sounds like you," Maria hears Karina whisper to Vanessa.

"Karina!" Much laughter, as even those who didn’t hear Karina infer what she said. Maria suspect Vanessa, clearly an incorrigible exhibitionist, is not unhappy.

"What to you mean by 'in a way?'" Jake asks. Maria notes that Derek is looking on, interested to hear what she will say. She wonders if anyone will ask her about her Irish maiden name, or whether she'll reveal her mother's Mexican one.

"Well, by marriage I am. My husband's name is Bradstreet." She doesn't tell them that it's soon to be ex-husband. "So I consider her an ancestor."

"Well, that doesn't really count," A.J. says.

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean, you're not directly related. And it's not like Bradstreet is really your name. It's like something you, like, picked up."

"You mean the way Sean Combs picked up Puff Daddy or P-Diddy or whoever the hell he is? Or the way Alecia Moore suddenly became Pink?" Some laughter. If they can pick their identities why can't I pick mine?"

"It's not the same."

"Oh no? Hey, pal, this is America. You get to decide who you are." Some chuckles.

"Well in that case," says Matt in a voice of levity, "I'm the son of Bill Gates."

Maria looks at the clock. Time is up and she's wandered off course. Time to bring it on home. The name thing was good, and she's glad they made the digression. But she wants to swing back to her main point.

"You know, she says, "people like yourselves sometimes get the idea that religion is a crutch, that it’s a way for people to escape hard realities by taking comfort in simple solutions. But – " here she pauses for emphasis and effect – “this is a stupid idea. True faith is a struggle. People don’t want believe because it’s easy; they do so even though it’s hard. Faith makes demands. What Anne Bradstreet is showing us here is just how demanding and difficult it is. And while I don’t expect you to share her faith, I want you to understand that this woman was no fool, and that the art she produced, art which has been admired for hundreds of years, would not be possible without it."

Nor, Maria suspects, as she pulls the classroom door open for them, would even mediocre teaching be possible without it.

About King's Survey

King's Survey is an imaginary high school history class taught by Abraham King, a.k.a. "Mr. K." Though the posts proceed in a loosely chronological fashion, you can drop in on the conversation any time. For more background on this series, see my other site, Conversing History. The opening chapter of "Kings Survey" is directly below.

“The Greatest Catholic Poet of Our Time . . . Is a Guy from the JerseyShore? Yup,” in The Best Catholic Writing 2007, edited by Jim Manney (Chicago: Loyola Press, 2007)

“I’s a Man Now: Gender and African-American Men,” in Divided Houses:Gender and the Civil War, edited by Nina Silber and Catherine Clinton (Oxford University Press, 1992).

THE COMPLETE MARIA CHRONICLES, 2009-2010

Most writing in the vast discourse about American education is analytic and/or prescriptive: It tells. Little of that writing is actually done by active classroom teachers. The Maria Chronicles, like the Felix Chronicles that preceded them (see directly below), takes a different approach: They show. These (very) short stories of moments in the life of the fictional Maria Bradstreet, who teaches U.S. history at Hudson High School, located somewhere in metropolitan New York, dramatize the issues, ironies, and realities of a life in schools. I hope you find them entertaining. And, just maybe, useful, whether you’re a teacher or not.–Jim Cullen